It’s been a while since I posted pure zing, but here’s one that I just ran across and love. I want Rufus in one of my stories. These kind of things make life great.
According to Remembering Randolph County, North Carolina, Rufus appeared on the Johnny Carson show. If anyone has links to that video, please post. In the meantime, get zinged, Baby.
On your left you may observe King Charles the 1st of England, the man who mandated the collection of urine. It was a patriotic thing.
Dude.
I love, LOVE, finding out how they used to make things. And it seems that making gunpowder back in the day spawned all sorts of jobs that beg to be put into a novel.
You’ve heard of tanners, bakers, tailors–how about a peterman, as in a collector of saltpeter?
Here are some juicy quotes from http://www-geology.ucdavis.edu/~cowen/~gel115/115CH16fertilizer.html
QUOTE 1: “By the end of the 1500s, the standard formula for military-grade gunpowder was saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal dust in the ratio 6:1:1.
At this time, the only source of potassium nitrate was from rotting organic matter, especially rotting meat and urine. The saltpeter supplier would send out teams of collectors who would locate promising places to dig (abandoned privies and dungheaps) by tasting the soil before digging it out and carting it off to be boiled, strained and evaporated to produce saltpeter of the required purity. It is said that throughout Europe no privy, stable, or dovecote was safe from saltpeter collectors or ‘petermen’.”
QUOTE 2: “In 1626, King Charles I ordered “his loving subjects [to] carefully and constantly keep and preserve in some convenient vessels or receptacles fit for the purpose, all the urine of man during the whole year, and all the stale of beasts which they can save and gather together whilst their beasts are in their stables and stalls, and that they be careful to use the best means of gathering together and preserving the urine and stale, without mixture of water or other thing put therein. Which our commandment and royal pleasure, being easy to observe, and so necessary for the public service of us and our people, that if any person do be remiss thereof we shall esteem all such persons contemptuous and ill affected both to our person and estate, and are resolved to proceed to the punishment of that offender with what severity we may.”
There are more interesting facts in the short article. In fact, a number of the pages at that site yield up some gems like this Rudyard Kipling poem:
Gold is for the mistress, silver for the maid
Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade
“Good!” said the Baron, sitting in his hall
“But Iron–cold iron–is master of them all.”
I decided to put my money where my mouth is. Or at least some peanuts and cheese. I want to make some friends with a couple of crows or ravens.
I’m a little hesitant. One or two buddies, okay. A freaking tribe swirling around the house, pooping on man and beast, or, horrors, tormenting the cats and demanding food–well, that’s something to write about, isn’t it?
Zing.
Besides, I’ve only ever seen a pair. How many friends can they have?
So I braved my fears and gathered six raven and crow calls from the internet. Then I put them in a play list, stuck my speakers in my office window, and began broadcasting crow. The mixture probably said something like, “Hey, there sweet momma, get off my branch you hawk turd!, can somebody pass me a napkin?” It’s got to pique their curiosity at least.
With the calls running I set out some cheese and peanuts at the edge of the lawn out our basement door. It appears these folks eat anything and tend to like fatty food. When I go to Logan next I’ll get some potato chips.
Results:
1. Three buzzards swooped up the slope and passed by.
2. The herd of cattle down the hill and across the street all stood and stared up at the house.
3. One of the cats came around to see what the commotion was all about. Stuck its head through the deck railings to get a look down where the sounds were coming from.
I played the calls all during lunch. Nothin. So I turned them off.
At about 3:40 PM I set out for my hike. Put out the speakers again and departed. On my way back down the hill at about 4:40 PM I saw the crow pair (or maybe they’re ravens) flying up the hill about 200 yards south of the house. They were dinking around in the air not trying to get anywhere fast.
Hustled down and checked out the peanuts and cheese. Nothin. No sign of any visitors coming to investigate. Will try again tomorrow.
How would you like to eat cuts from slabs of meat grown from stem cells?
Give the cells some water, glucose and natural proteins. To make sure you have something that feels like meat you “exercise” the muscle with electrical pulses.
Gross? Maybe. But someone is thinking about it.
http://www.popsci.com/environment/gallery/2008-09/inside-vertical-skyscraper
As with all zing, post story ideas in the comments.
My buddy Rob just brought this Jon Schmidt YouTube to my attention. It’s terrific!
